


Mini-fill: Looks Like Him

by MissGoodPage



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGoodPage/pseuds/MissGoodPage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mini-fill for LJ prompt: Dwalin/Frerin, Dwalin/Fíli, Fíli reminds Dwalin of Frerin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mini-fill: Looks Like Him

**Author's Note:**

> written for prompt: sometimes, when fili smiles just right, he looks exactly like frerin. when they fuck, dwalin blurs the lines between the young prince and his dead uncle, and he loves both fiercely and equally.

He remembers the day Frerin left, never to return. Their last touch, their quick stolen kiss, the use of tongue, the grunting and the sweat. He remembers it like it had only been yesterday and for a long while he has feared the memory would haunt him forever. 

Dwalin knew that losing Frerin was the worst that could happen to him, and he knew he would never forget his lover. Some mornings after his death he woke up with a hard-on and he would turn to feel for the blond to be there, only to regretfully realize he was gone and their morning rituals had ended. 

As time passes by he starts to get accustomed to Frerin's absence. Every quick fuck is now a hand job with closed eyes and the whisper of Frerin's name. 

He joins Thorin's party not just out of loyalty to the prince but mostly to him. He joins because he has always been loyal to Frerin and always will be. He joins the quest for Erebor because of his unending love for the prince who could have been and who now was not. Frerin would never stand next to the throne, nor rise to it. His life had ended long ago.

The group consists of old friends, and some new ones. And among them are the young princes, Thorin and Frerin's nephews. And this is where it all goes wrong.

Dwalin sees the boy. He recognizes the child in him, he always had, but the child is fading. The boy's eyes, blue like sapphires, are maturing. His moustache grows longer and is now braided.

And every gesture he makes reminds Dwalin of him.

The worst is when the prince smiles. It's the smile of a prince. A prince who once was but never is to be again. It's the same smile as Frerin used to give.

And if Dwalin thought Fíli's common smiles to be rousing memories was bad enough he was wrong. For when Fíli turned to his brother and their eyes met, and a silent signal was passed between them, the corners of his mouth would twitch and a mischievous smile would form. A smile Dwalin remembered all too well. A smile of Frerin. And such a smile always promised sex.

It's not too odd that Dwalin tossed and turned in the nights, and grunted grumpily in the mornings. It's no wonder his morning wood returned harder than before and that he found himself staring hungrily at the blond-headed prince whenever he was set to make trouble. It was no wonder that Dwalin watched with envy as Kíli received Fíli's unwavering attention. And it was no wonder that the bald-headed dwarf fisted himself hard underneath the blankets while grunting Fíli's name. 

It was an accident, of course. He had started out thinking of Frerin, calling for Frerin, and somewhere along the line the name switched to Fíli, then back to Frerin again. 

With his eyes glazed with lust Dwalin continued on their journey. And like Frerin, Fíli noticed.

It happens for the first time during the night. Fíli leaves his brother's side to sit with Dwalin who has to keep watch. The blonde’s hand is on top of his own and squeezes gently. Dwalin nearly bursts out of his breeches at the contact of skin on skin. But Fíli just smiles, cheekily, and licks his lips. He leans forward, whispers a dirty comment, then they kiss.

There's been no courting whatsoever, yet there's the attraction. Dwalin knows Fíli can feel it and is defenceless against it. He has the younger dwarf writhing underneath him many a night, arms pinned to the floor, lips crushing and hips wiggling. They share many more kisses than would be deemed proper. Even in public. They don't need to hide what they have, for it is bloody brilliant and fantastic and all he wanted in one.

But Thorin is right when he one day walks over to Dwalin, clasps a hand on his shoulder, and speaks to him in a low voice. "It is because he's just like Frerin in looks and action."

And Dwalin wishes Thorin could see how right he was about Fíli, even in the throes of passion. For each meeting they have, each private moment of their own, ends with a loud cry of Dwalin as he fills the young prince underneath and cries out his beloved's name. "Frerin!"

If Fíli ever minded Dwalin's confusion he did not seem to be bothered by it. In fact, it seems as if he has forgotten himself entirely.

During a break they find themselves near a river. Everyone's bathing, but it's obvious by the look in Fíli's blue eyes that he needs to get dirty before he enters the water. He stretches out a hand and waits for Dwalin to accept his offer, then he whispers.

"I want you to fuck me, Dwalin. Fuck me hard. Tell me my name."

The older dwarf takes little time to prepare the prince, though his hands work nimbly and his cock is made slippery enough to slip inside without much pain. Fíli gasps and arches his back, then silently begs for Dwalin to give him more. Which he does.

Dwalin's movements become harsh now, his hips snapping back and forth. "Frerin," He gasps and digs his fingers deeper into the prince's white skin, "Fíli, Oh Mahal, Frerin, you feel so good. You're mine. Mine."

And all Fíli can do is agree.

His identity being long gone. But it doesn't matter when Dwalin explodes inside of him and fills him with his juices. He loves Dwalin, and Dwalin loves him. 

“Yes,” He pants, catching his breath. “I’m yours.”

And all Dwalin can mutter is that one name. _Frerin._


End file.
